From Hell He Came And He Looked Good (Like Really Good)2
by HannibalSolo
Summary: This is a Crowley x Reader. Okay, so something went wrong the first time I put this up. It's fixed now, I believe. This is the second part of my Crowley one-shot "From Hell He Came." I know that probably sounds contradictory, but it's true :) Now, you don't have to have read the first one to get this one, but I would recommend it nonetheless. Enjoy!


(Crowley x Reader)

*This is a continuation of "From Hell He Came…"

It had been a little over a month since you met him. Crowley that is. The self-proclaimed King of Hell, who you had made out with. Really, it was Sam and Dean's fault it happened. I mean, they'd left you alone for more than a couple minutes. Trouble was bound to ensue. Dean was only just beginning to let up on the criticizing, and Sam was doing his best to get Dean to back off. You were busy trying to forget how enticing Crowley had smelled…and tasted. Castiel hadn't mentioned the incident at all, but then he was probably still very confused. Also, he had bigger things to concern himself with, like finding ways to stop whatever Apocalypse was happening this week, for instance. It was kind of a problem. Sam and Dean had just gotten back from facing off with an ice wraith, and they were both in somewhat sour moods. They'd agreed to meet you at your hotel room one state over, where you were staying while working a case. A revenant. Nasty business.

You lay on your motel bed, staring at the ceiling, mind absently wondering into thoughts of how many other people Crowley might have kissed and whether or not you were particularly special among those many and various people. You assumed that you weren't because that was the most realistic conclusion you could draw. "Trouble" by P!nk played in the background. You sighed, sitting up. A freshly opened Redd's Apple Ale bottle sat on the bedside stand, perspiration rolling down its sides. You picked it up, taking a good swig and looking at the time on your phone.

The boys had said they were an hour out the last time you'd spoken, which meant they were probably still a few hours away. You decided to get drunk to pass the time. Using your fake I.D., you'd picked up a couple six packs of Redd's. It was a really addictive beverage. "Ganja Farmer" by Marlon Asher started playing on the laptop you'd inherited from Sam. He'd finally gotten sick of the old heap and bought himself a new one, which meant one thing to you. Free laptop. You nodded your head to the smooth reggae, feeling a buzz start to settle in from the second Redd's you were throwing back now. "You are inebriated." You jolted at the voice that suddenly spoke up from behind you, getting to your feet and whipping around. Castiel. Dammit, Cas. You grimaced and resisted the urge to face-palm.

"Cas, you know I love you, but could you call first next time. Or knock. Anything to give a girl a decent heads up, before you come materializing out of nowhere and scaring me shitless. And, for your information, I am not inebriated. I'm only on my second one, and I'll not have anyone saying I'm a one beer queer," you said matter-of-factly. Cas cocked his head to the side.

"A one beer queer?" he said questioningly. You had to chuckle at his innocence.

"It's a derogatory term for someone who can't handle more than one beer before they're sloshed," you explained. "Sloshed being a slang term for inebriated." He nodded, apparently understanding.

"The more I learn about human culture, the more Dean's behavior makes sense to me. I am not certain if that is a good thing," he responded. You laughed heartily.

"Probably not, but it can do a person good to take in a little bad, if that makes sense," you said.

"Are you sure you are not 'a one beer queer?'" Cas asked in way of reply. You rolled your eyes, scoffing.

"What did you need, Cas?"

"Well, I was hoping to speak with Dean and Sam about their recent encounter with the ice wraith," he said. You were itching to be alone for a little while, and you called up the boys again to get their current location. Luckily they were at a stop sign when you called. Castiel quickly fluttered away to speak with them. You heaved a sigh of relief.

After finishing your third Redd's, you headed to the bathroom to shower, wanting to, at last, wash the scent of the undead out of your hair. Revenants made for particularly messy targets, since you liked to be thorough, which meant decapitating them, cutting out their hearts, and then burning everything. The warm water felt like heaven against your aching shoulder muscles.

"Cry Little Sister" by G Tom Mac played, as you finished shaving your second leg. Rinsing the last of the shaving cream away, you turned the water off. You reached out for where you'd left your towel, but felt only empty air instead, making a growling noise from the back of your throat. "Dean? Sam? I swear to Castiel's father, I am in no mood. I don't give a crap if you faced off with an ice wraith today. I faced off with a revenant. Alone. And those fuckers smell, and they're just plain unpleasant, so give me my towel," you said. A soft, plushy thing was thrust into your waiting hand, which you pulled behind the curtain, relieved to find that it was indeed your towel. You wrapped it securely around yourself, yanking the curtain open and suddenly blushing furiously. "You're not Sam or Dean…"

"No, love, I most certainly am not," Crowley said, smiling wickedly at you. You stepped out of the shower and moved past him quickly, feeling intensely nervous. This was not happening. Except, it actually was. You really need to work on this whole denial schtick, dearest reader. "What are you doing?"

"Me? Just going to bust out the cake and streamers—What do you think? To put my freakin' clothes on!" you responded with a scowl.

A worn, blue duffle-bag sat on the second motel bed beside yours, its contents spread out in comfortable disarray, including your undergarments. You quickly started chucking those back in the bag, an awkward frenzy driving you to move with an almost inhuman speed, as you blushed the entire time. You picked out the underwear you'd need, wrapping it inside a tank top and some skinny jeans you rustled up from the pile. "Awww, no need to pick up on my account. I think we know each other well enough that it shouldn't matter to me how much of a slob you are," Crowley said with a deep chuckle. You shot him a cutting glare.

"Your mom is a slob," you quipped childishly.

"My mother is long dead, love. Now, come, come! You can do better than that. Of course, I have caught you at a rather compromising moment. You must feel exposed, vulnerable…" he paused, a malicious grin coming over his face. "Naked, in a word."

You pursed your lips, not deigning to respond to his teasing. He sauntered over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, sending shockwaves through you. You froze momentarily, which gave him enough time to start the next phase of his seduction. His lips grazed lightly along the crook of your neck, until he found your sweet spot. He seemed to need no indication that it was indeed the spot, pressing in upon it fiercely with his soft mouth instinctively. The protests that had begun to bubble up in you came out haltingly and stutteringly, soon falling silent entirely. You felt his tongue graze along your skin, his lips closing in again on your pulse point. Your legs felt like jelly, as you leaned into his warmth, closing your eyes. Then it struck you that you were like yesterday's newspaper to this guy, good only to be perused over arbitrarily and tossed aside. Oh, Hell, no.

With a certain amount of effort you pushed his hands away from around your waist, shoving him back with a very serious expression. He looked confused as all get out. You shifted a bit to the left, so that his body wasn't trapping yours against the end of the bed. "Crowley, I can't do this. I won't. I've had a lot of time to think it over, and I—," you paused, hesitating, "I am better than this."

"Well, that's…different. Not that I am arguing, but I can't pretend I'm not a bit disappointed. Mostly because I was really looking forward to being your first," he said lasciviously in low, rumbling tones. Heat rose quickly to your face, as you tried not to let your embarrassment overwhelm you.

"Um, well, that's very sweet for a—a demon. I think. But I'm sure there are plenty of other virgins who would happily throw themselves at you. So, yeah," you stammered brusquely. He laughed and clucked his tongue.

"None of them nearly as interesting, I'm sure. A man likes a challenge every now and then, but have no fear, my dear. I will act as a perfect gentleman about it," he said, leaving you feeling mystified. What was he on about? He couldn't seriously be suggesting that his interest extended beyond the chance for an expedient lay. "When you have lived as long as I have, love, you learn to quickly determine if someone is worth taking the time. You are a woman worth waiting for." He paused, looking uncomfortable for the first time since he arrived. Slowly he walked over to you, growing bolder when you didn't back away. He placed a chaste kiss on your cheek, and backed away with a smirk. "I was going to come here under the pretense of needing to speak with the idiots, but that would seem a bit silly now, wouldn't it? Farewell, my dear, until next time." You blinked, and he was gone.

Soon you were dressed and sitting on your bed, drinking another Redd's. It was your sixth one. Being as small as you were, you were starting to become 'inebriated,' as Cas put it. You were in a daze, running through your encounter with Crowley over and over again in your mind, analyzing it to death. "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" by The Smiths played in the background. There was a knock on your motel door. You answered it, your eyes drunkenly taking in Sam, Dean, and Castiel, who piled in after saying hey in weary tones. Sam and Dean went on about the ice wraith, while you pretended to listen. "So, what have you been doing?" Dean asked. You looked up from the carpet, zeroing in on him like you'd only just noticed his presence. You shook your head side-to-side, as if to shake off the thoughts that dogged you relentlessly. You smiled faintly.

"Nothing, really. Killed a revenant. Now, I'm getting drunk," you replied.

"Yick, those bastards smell to high heaven when you gank 'em. Nice work. I mean the getting drunk part, of course," Dean said, simpering. Sam scoffed, remaining silent. Castiel sat quietly to the side. "Man, what a shitty day…Say, do you smell sulfur?"


End file.
